


crash and burn

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 05:22:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12149502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Michael has been self-harming for a while and no one has a clue, but what happens when his secret is finally found out?





	crash and burn

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be quick and only a few parts. I just really needed to write this for myself. also, this wasn't proofread at all lol

It was a secret that Michael cut himself, a secret that not even his family or closest friends knew. He was meticulous with his methods. An excuse was always ready to be played everything was planned out precisely. This was how Michael kept sane. His anger had gotten the best of him at times, but this was something that helped with that, something that he was in control of. He knew if he took the anger and pain out in himself, it wouldn’t be directed at anyone else as much. There was something wrong; he knew it. It wasn’t normal to feel the way he did. What it depression? Was he just being a pussy and should just suck it up? Be a man? He knew it was fucked. Several years he had been doing this and no one noticed. He almost wished someone would. He wanted to scream “ _ Fucking look at me!”  _ but he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t have a fucking breakdown now; he was depended upon at Rooster Teeth. Fans depended on him. Michael didn’t want to disappoint anyone, being a closeted perfectionist. Even though he cloaked himself with a  _ fuck it  _ facade, he really did care deeply about his job and what others thought of him.

He was always in control in his small apartment, by himself. There was no one else to bother him. Michael could do what he had to and be done with it. It was nighttime, which was the normal time for him. Almost ritualistically, he pulled out a small box from the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. The box was white and unmarked, probably holding some sort of present from a past Christmas, Michael wasn’t sure. He was just sure that it now held his blades and razors. His collection started small, getting them from cheap pencil sharpeners and eventually leading to blades that were larger and sharper. 

Michael sat on the edge of the bathtub, his jeans off and in a pile on the floor. He took his favorite blade and pressed it against his fleshy thigh. One, two, three, four cuts were made in a neat row. He was usually never rushed or messy about it. It was about control and precision. The slices in his skin immediately beaded with blood. It had been a while, so he decided to add a few more. Six more. They were deep. Michael could feel the endorphins, enjoying the moment. The cuts started to drip slowly down his thigh. He knew at this time he should probably get in the shower, but something inside him said to cut somewhere else. All the years he had been doing this, it was always on his thighs. It was easy to hide because there were hardly any times where anyone would see his full thighs. This led to them becoming severely scarred. There were hundreds of scars, some thick and red and purple. Some thinner. Some were older and white with several years of age. But he had never cut anywhere else. Not knowing where this sudden compulsion came from, he was intrigued and interested. He toyed with idea for a minute and decided to do it. This was going against everything he had been doing, but in a certain light, it was kind of exciting even though he knew it was going to extremely difficult to hide. He needed this. 

The blade glided against his forearm easily. The skin was thinner and started to bleed faster than his legs. He then thinks he understands why people always cut their wrists. The pain was different; it stung more. He may have went a little overboard, which he promised himself he wouldn’t do. He was supposed to be in control. He now felt out of control. He knew he shouldn’t have done this, but the pain and blood was too intoxicating to stop. He didn’t stop until there were ten cuts on his arm, matching the ten on his leg. His hand shook, almost dropping the blade. Okay, he definitely needed to get in the shower now. Blood was slowly running down his arm and leg as he carefully put the box back in the cabinet. He stripped his clothes off, trying not to get blood on his shirt especially. The water in the shower ran warm against Michael’s skin like a hug that he had been needing for a while. But soon that water hit the fresh wounds that he had just made. No matter how many times he had done this, he would never get used to this feeling. The cuts stung like a bitch, causing MIchael to hiss in pain, but not recoil from the water. He willingly let the water run over them, knowing they probably needed to be flushed out and cleaned. He definitely didn’t want an infection, and so far he was lucky to not have gotten one. 

After his shower, he hadn’t anticipated the cuts on his arm to still bleed, but nonetheless, there he was, holding a tissue to his forearm, hoping the bleeding would stop sometime soon. He mentally kicked himself for being so reckless. It was dumb of him to do it, he knew that. It was soon after that the cuts seemed to stop bleeding for the most part. Michael could finally go to sleep, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow and he was wrapped up in his blanket. 

The alarm on his phone went off at 8AM and he groaned in a pained and groggy voice. He put the covers over his face for a second before turning the alarm off and getting up out of bed. Checking the weather, he regretted what he did last night to his arm. It was supposed to be well up into the 80s and humid. He knew he couldn’t wear a t-shirt and a jacket would be too much, so he settled on a ¾ length sleeve shirt. He knew he could probably keep his secret actually secret with this shirt. After quickly getting ready and eating a quick granola bar, he was off for his daily commute to the office.


End file.
